"Old Put" The Patriot eBook

She started forward with a little moan, and put her
hands over her eyes. Then her will reasserted
itself, and her firm lips closed tight.

Nothing should make her waver or alter her mind now—­and
these phantasies should be ruthlessly stamped out.

She sat down in an armchair, and forced herself to
picture her life with Henry. It would be full
of such great and interesting things, and he would
be there to guide and protect her always and keep her
from all regrets.

So presently she grew calm and comforted, and by the
time she was dressed for dinner, she was even bright
and gay, and made a most sweet and gracious mistress
of Heronac and of the heart of Henry Fordyce.
Just as they were leaving the dining-room, Nicholas
brought her a message from Pere Anselme, to the effect
that a very bad storm was coming up, and she must
be sure to have the great iron shutters inside the
lower dungeon windows securely closed. He had
already told Berthe’s son to take in the little
boat.

And as they crossed the connecting passage, Madame
Imogen gave a scream, for a vivid flash of lightning
came in through the open windows—­followed
by a terrific crash of thunder, and when they reached
the sitting-room the storm had indeed come.

It was past midnight when Michael reached Paris, and,
going in to the Ritz, met Miss Daisy Van der Horn
and a number of other friends just leaving after a
merry dinner in a private room. They greeted him
with fervor. Where had he been? And would
not he dress quickly and come on to supper with them?

“Why, you look as glum as an owl, Michael Arranstoun!”
Miss Van der Horn herself informed him. “Just
you hustle and put on your evening things, and we’ll
make you feel a new man.”

And with the most supreme insolence, before them all
he bent down and kissed both her hands—­while
his blue eyes blazed with devilment as he answered:

“I will join you in half an hour—­but
if you pull me out of bed like this, you will have
to make a night of it with me. You shan’t
go home at all!”

CHAPTER XIII

A whole month went by, and after the storm peace seemed
to cover Heronac. Sabine gardened with Pere Anselme,
and listened to his kindly, shrewd common sense, and
then they read poetry in the afternoons when tea was
over. They read Beranger, Francois Villon, Victor
Hugo, and every now and then they even dashed into
de Musset!

The good Father felt more easy in his mind. After
all, his impressions of Lord Fordyce’s character
had been very high, and he was not apt to make mistakes
in people—­perhaps le bon Dieu meant to make
an exception in favor of the beloved Dame d’Heronac,
and to find divorce a good thing! Sabine had
heard from Mr. Parsons that the negotiations had commenced.
It would be some time, though, before she could be
free. She must formally refuse to return when
the demand asking her to do so should come. This